Chapter 69: Digital Footprint of Desire
The sterile chill of the county jail corridor seeped into Pete’s bones, but it was nothing compared to the cold dread crystallizing inside him. Mark remained prostrated on the cell floor, forehead pressed to grimy concrete, shoulders trembling with silent sobs. Karn hadn’t moved, hadn’t blinked. His stillness was volcanic.
"Mark," Karn’s voice cut through the damp air, low, precise, and utterly devoid of its usual charm. It was the voice of judgment from the highest tier. "Look at me."
Mark flinched, then slowly, painfully, peeled his face off the floor. Tears and grime streaked his cheeks. "S-sir?"
"Who gave you the order?" Karn demanded, each word a shard of ice. "Which Purple Tag commanded you to spy on Pete Riverton and report to Derek Potter? And why?"
Mark swallowed convulsively. "It... it was Patrick, sir. Patrick Vale. Tier 3 Purple Tag, Procurement Oversight." He bowed his head again, not quite touching the floor this time. "Why, sir? I... I didn't get details. He just ordered me. Said it was critical. Said report everything about Mr. Riverton – projects, progress, moods, anything unusual – directly to that Mr. Derek." His voice hitched. "He said... he said if I told anyone, questioned it, or refused... my career was frozen. Blacklisted. From Titan. From everywhere. My family..." He trailed off, a fresh wave of despair washing over him. "I'm sorry. I didn't know... I didn't know it was that."
Patrick Vale. The name meant nothing. Pete racked his brain. School? College? A blank. Just another face in the Purple Tag sea.
Karn didn’t react to Mark’s plea. His gaze flicked sideways, pinning Silas, who had been tracing imaginary constellations on the plexiglass. "Silas. Patrick Vale. Tier 3 Procurement. Everything. Now."
Silas blinked, his head tilting like a curious bird. "Friend Patrick!" he chirped, but his fingers were already flying over the holographic interface projected from his wristcomm, faster than seemed humanly possible. Data streams scrolled in his wide, unblinking eyes. "Patrick Vale... Tier 3 Purple... Attended Baby Pete’s sky party! Two sunsets ago!" He giggled softly. "Took so many sparkles with Baby Pete. So many."
Pete felt a prickle of unease. The promotion party. The enforced nudity. The sea of flashing cameras. He’d tried to dissociate, to focus on Karn’s presence nearby.
Silas hummed, his fingers a blur. "Patrick... learned at Sunshine House same as Pete Friend! But... different room. Different cubby." He frowned, concentrating. "Then... Sunshine House big brother school! Same as Grumpy Derek and Sour Liam! All three... splashy water club friends! Thump-thump ball club!" He looked up, beaming. "Team splash!"
Tarn, leaning against the opposite wall with his arms crossed, whistled low. "Same sports club in college, huh?" His sharp eyes narrowed. "Bet you anything they were thick as thieves back in high school too. Same club there? Easy pipeline for the hate."
Karn’s expression hardened, a glacial certainty settling over his features. "Obvious," he stated, the single word heavy with contempt. "Patrick learned the script years ago. Derek and Liam’s petty little vendetta against Pete. He absorbed it. Carried the torch." His gaze shifted to Pete, a flicker of something protective and fierce in the icy depths. "He knew."
Pete felt a cold hand squeeze his heart. Another enemy he never saw. Another person who looked at him and saw only a target, fuelled by borrowed spite.
Silas gasped, his eyes widening comically. "Oh! Picture friends!" He jabbed at his hologram. "Party eyes! CCTV eyes saw Friend Patrick! Click-click-click with naked Pete Friend! Smile-smile! Click-click-click! Solo Pete sparkles too! Lots and lots!"
The prickle became a full-blown wave of nausea. Pete remembered Patrick now. A blandly handsome face, an easy smile. He’d been one of the many who’d requested photos, who’d positioned Pete, who’d touched his arm to turn him, the flash blinding. He’d seemed... harmless. Just another Purple Tag exercising privilege.
Silas’s next words froze the blood in Pete’s veins. "Friend Patrick... gone!" he announced, sounding genuinely surprised. "Poof! Said 'no more work' yesterday! Bye-bye Titan!"
Karn’s head snapped towards Silas. "Resigned? Effective yesterday?"
Silas nodded vigorously. "Yes! Gone-gone! But..." His fingers danced again, his brow furrowing in intense focus. "Before poof... Friend Patrick played in the Red Tag picture box!" He looked up, his usual manic cheer replaced by a disturbing blankness. "The secret picture box. Where Pete Friend’s naked sparkles live. He looked. He took." Silas tilted his head, meeting Karn’s gaze directly. "Patrick stole Baby Pete’s sparkles."
The world tilted. The antiseptic smell turned cloying. The cold floor seemed to rush up. Pete’s naked photos. From the party. From... God knows where else Red Tag surveillance might have caught him vulnerable. Stored in some database. Accessed. Stolen. By Patrick. Who had just vanished.
A low, dangerous sound rumbled in Karn’s chest. It wasn’t a growl, not quite. It was the sound of ice cracking over a bottomless, furious depth. His eyes, fixed on Silas, held a promise of annihilation.
His eyes, fixed on Silas, held a promise of annihilation. The stolen photos, Patrick’s vanishing act – it slammed into Pete like a physical blow. His stomach lurched, the sterile jail air suddenly thick, suffocating. Panic clawed its way up his throat, cold sweat prickling his skin. My pictures. Everywhere. Gone.
He instinctively turned towards Karn, seeking the anchor of his friend’s calm. Karn stood utterly still, radiating a terrifying, silent fury. His jaw was a hard line, eyes glacial, yet his breathing remained unnervingly steady. The fury was contained, focused, a predator’s stillness before the strike. Pete’s own panic faltered, momentarily overawed by the sheer intensity held in check beside him.
A warm breath tickled Pete’s ear. Tarn leaned in close, his voice a low, urgent murmur barely audible over Mark’s muffled sobs. "Breathe, brother-in-law. Karn’s got Patrick. That’s Karn’s hunt." Tarn’s sharp eyes flicked meaningfully towards Mark, still bowed low on the cell floor. "Your focus? Him. His future’s sitting right in your hands right now. Think."
Pete blinked, the panic receding slightly under Tarn’s insistent logic. Mark’s future? In my hands? He trusted Karn implicitly to dismantle Patrick, retrieve the photos. But Mark… Mark was different. He looked back at the trembling figure in orange. Slowly, deliberately, Pete forced himself to inhale, exhale. He trusted Karn. He needed to handle this.
He turned fully towards Karn, whose icy gaze was still locked on Silas, processing the theft. "Karn," Pete said, his voice surprisingly steady despite the tremor inside. Karn’s focus snapped to him instantly, the intensity momentarily shifting. "About Mark."
Karn raised a single, expectant eyebrow. The silent command was clear: Speak.
"He… he was my desk mate. Before Purple." Pete swallowed, the memories flooding back – shared grimaces during mandatory nudity drills, Mark quietly sliding Pete extra rations when Pete looked too thin, whispered jokes during soul-crushing tasks. "When I was Red Tag… it was brutal. Humiliating." He met Karn’s eyes directly. "Mark was there. He got it. He helped. Shared the load. Sincerely."
He glanced back at Mark, who hadn’t moved. "Even while… reporting… he still did that. Supported me. Like a friend." Pete’s voice softened. "He was good to me."
Karn studied Pete’s face for a long moment, his own expression unreadable. Then, a fractional nod. "Sounds like he was good for you," Karn conceded, his voice low and measured. "Despite the poison."
"Yes," Pete affirmed, relief washing over him. Karn understood.
Mark’s head jerked up at Pete’s words. Tears streamed freely down his face. "No!" he choked out, his voice raw with despair. "No, Mr. Riverton! Don't say that!" He slammed his forehead back onto the concrete floor with a sickening thud. "I'm bad! I betrayed you! My desk mate! My friend!" The words dissolved into wrenching sobs. "I destroyed it! With my own hands! When I sent that first report… I killed it!"
He lifted his face, streaked with tears and grime, looking utterly broken. "I deserve nothing! No forgiveness! Nothing!" His voice cracked. "Whatever happens… termination… jail… I accept it. All of it. No argument. I need… I need to feel it. The consequence." He bowed his head again, pressing his forehead hard against the cold floor, his body shaking violently with silent weeping.
Karn watched Mark’s abject display, his expression hardening back into that terrifying calm. He gave a single, sharp nod. "Good." The word was a hammer blow. "You accept consequence." He turned his piercing gaze fully on Pete. "But I decide the consequence for ruining my partner’s life." His tone brooked no argument. "By myself."
Without another word, Karn pivoted sharply on his heel. "Silas. Move." His command sliced through the heavy air. Silas blinked, startled out of his data-trance, and scrambled after Karn as he strode purposefully towards the corridor exit.
Pete stared after them, confusion warring with trust. Karn dealing with Mark alone? What did that mean? But Karn had said he would decide the consequence… and Pete believed, fiercely, that Karn wouldn't simply crush Mark. Not after Pete’s plea. He had to believe Karn would find a way to help.
Tarn nudged Pete’s shoulder, a knowing, almost mischievous smile playing on his lips. "See? Told you. Believe in the cousin." He jerked his chin towards the rapidly retreating figures of Karn and Silas. "Now run, brother-in-law! Don't let the strategist get too far ahead!"
Pete took one last look at Mark’s hunched, trembling form behind the plexiglass. A pang of sorrow shot through him, but Tarn was right. Trust Karn. He turned and broke into a jog, Tarn easily matching his stride, their footsteps echoing sharply on the linoleum as they chased Karn’s purposeful silhouette down the stark, fluorescent-lit corridor towards whatever judgment, or salvation, awaited.
He turned and broke into a jog, Tarn easily matching his stride, their footsteps echoing sharply on the linoleum as they chased Karn’s purposeful silhouette down the stark, fluorescent-lit corridor towards whatever judgment, or salvation, awaited. They caught Karn and Silas just as Karn’s sleek, black electric sedan purred to life outside the county jail’s sally port. The city’s damp grey light felt different after the jail’s suffocating sterility. "Get in," Karn commanded, his voice clipped, eyes fixed on the road ahead. No discussion.
Silas scrambled into the back, immediately engrossed in his wristcomm, holographic data flickering across his pupils. Tarn slid in beside him, throwing Pete a reassuring, if slightly mischievous, grin. Pete took the passenger seat, the leather cool against his skin, the phantom chill of betrayal still clinging. The car accelerated smoothly, weaving through downtown traffic with Karn’s silent, intense focus. The stolen photos, Patrick’s vanishing act – they hung heavy in the air, unspoken but suffocating.
"Where?" Pete finally asked, his voice rough.
"Rising Star College," Karn stated, eyes never leaving the road. "Need specialists."
Tarn leaned forward, resting his arms on the back of the front seats. "Photo wizards, right? Silas found the trail?"
"Indeed," Karn confirmed tersely. "Patrick accessed the Red Tag surveillance archives. Stole files. Requires… unconventional retrieval. Kevin and Chad are uniquely positioned." He offered no further explanation, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.
The college campus materialized – a jarring blend of neo-gothic stone and gleaming modern glass, buzzing with students oblivious to the storm Karn carried. They parked near a nondescript administration building. Karn led them through echoing hallways, his Purple Tag credentials opening doors with silent authority. He found Professor Golf in a cramped office smelling of old paper and strong coffee.
"Professor," Karn began, his charm switched back on, smooth and utterly convincing. "Strategic Executive Oversight, Titan. Karn Thorne. We require a brief, private consultation with two students: Kevin and Chad. Essential business partnership evaluation. Utmost discretion assured."
Professor Golf, a weary man with thinning hair, scanned Karn’s credentials, then shrugged, clearly used to corporate intrusions. "Photography club meeting room, third floor. Room 312. Knock first. Don’t disrupt the equipment." He waved a hand dismissively before turning back to his screen. "Fifteen minutes."
Room 312 was a standard college meeting space – scuffed linoleum, a large table, chairs stacked to one side, posters of abstract compositions on the walls, the faint chemical tang of darkroom fixer lingering. Karn stood near the table, radiating calm authority. Pete hovered near the door, Mark’s broken form and Patrick’s betrayal still raw in his mind. Tarn leaned against a wall, observing, while Silas wandered to a corner, humming softly and tracing the patterns in the linoleum with his toe.
A few minutes later, a soft shuffle sounded outside. The door handle turned. Pete blinked.
Two figures filled the doorway. A smaller one, completely naked, perched effortlessly on the shoulders of a taller, fully clothed young man. The naked boy, Kevin, sat astride Chad’s neck, his legs dangling loosely down Chad's chest, his entire body on display. His relaxed posture meant his anus was clearly visible, a dark, open circle against his skin. Both wore identical polished steel pendants on thin chains, the letters "C&K" clearly engraved. Identical rings, also engraved "C&K", gleamed on their fingers; Chad wore an additional ring with the letter 'A', Kevin one with 'B'.
Chad, tall and solidly built, moved with careful grace into the room. He reached up with large, gentle hands, gripping Kevin’s waist. "Alright, Wizard Prince," he murmured, his voice deep and warm. He lifted Kevin smoothly off his shoulders and set him down lightly onto the floor. Kevin landed with a soft thump, instantly bouncing on the balls of his feet, completely unabashed in his nudity.
"Chad," the taller one announced calmly to the room, his eyes scanning Karn, then Pete, Tarn, and Silas with quiet assessment.
The smaller, naked figure beamed, a wide, infectious smile splitting his face. "Kevin is Kevin!" he declared brightly, pointing at his own chest, his voice light and cheerful. He didn't use "I".
Chad’s gaze softened as he watched Kevin immediately begin exploring the room, darting over to examine a poster, then crouching to peer under the table, his movements energetic and fluid. Chad pulled out a chair and sat down, his posture relaxed but watchful, his eyes constantly tracking Kevin’s cheerful, naked progress around the perimeter. He finally turned his full attention to Karn, his expression polite but distant. "Alright," Chad said, folding his hands loosely on the table. His tone was calm, businesslike, but underpinned by a quiet protectiveness. "What business do you need to talk with Chad and Kevin about?"